


Murphy's Law

by cenobitesquid



Category: Nightmare Dork University - Fandom, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Choking, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Exchange, Toys, clothespins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6617581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cenobitesquid/pseuds/cenobitesquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Pitchiner is forced to stay and take a remedial summer course at NDU, and is unpleasantly surprised to find that Proto spends his summers on campus.   Which leaves them alone.  Together.  All.  Summer.</p><p>Set in the Nightmare Dork University AU, for more info on that AU fandom here's a rundown: http://mira-eyeteeth.tumblr.com/ndu</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

So, Summer was going to be a real drag.

Pitchiner was keenly aware that his academic performance had been flagging; he should have gotten his act together in time for those end-of-semester essays, and buckling down to study for finals had never been a stumbling block for him before– but living in the same apartment as Pitch like he was…. well, he’d been understandably distracted. Half the time it was all walking on eggshells, and the other half it was as if he and Pitch were energy particles in the Large Hadron Collider, propelled towards each other with unnatural force until they made impact (usually on the bed but sometimes they didn’t make it that far). Too many evenings wound up with them ravishing each other senseless, and collapsing in a messy pile of bite and scratch marks, out to sea in the afterglow of pleasure, homework and classes a memory on some distant shore. 

And god, that was great. Something about Pitch’s lithe body and all its enticing angles leaning over the kitchen counter, or his sharp knees folded on the couch while he scowled at his sketchbook of costume designs left Pitchiner weak with desire. But towards the end of the semester, the number of nights that ended with the subdued mechanical racket of the printer spitting out the final draft of an essay or the heavy close of a book, were considerably fewer than the ones that shook with the slap of sweat-slicked skin, rough gasps, and a quick sink into blissful oblivion. 

This hadn’t escaped the notice of their other roommate, either. 

“You’re very busy these days, Pitchinier. I hope you’re still making time for SOME academics, between all this fraternizing.” 

As always, Pitchiner’s anger was closer to the surface than he’d like, knowing that Proto was keeping score.

"…‘Least I know HOW to fraternize.“ He’d snapped back lamely, trying to put the observation far out of mind. 

That had been weeks ago, before the day of reckoning had come and his grades had begun trickling in on his electronic transcript. The apartment had shook with groans of disbelief and frustration as Pitchiner realized what had (inevitably) happened: He’d gotten a C in Modern Warfare, due to a few incomplete assignments, and he needed a B or better to register for the advanced course next semester that he would eventually need to graduate. That meant a summer course.

And now, on the last day of the semester, Proto was pinning him down with one of his serene smiles (which Pitchiner thought always betrayed a hint of malevolence), standing innocently at the kitchen counter, holding a blender full of some dubiously vegan smoothie in one hand, glass tumbler in the other. As if the fucker already knew that he’d failed a class, and would be stuck on campus by himself over break. It remindedvPitchiner of all the little remarks that had been accumulating between them, and he was angry all over again. He folded his summer schedule abruptly in half and shouldered his way past his lurking gargoyle of a roommate into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge door. 

Finding nothing of particular interest in the fridge (obvious in hindsight; everyone was preparing to head home in a few days), he closed the door again and rummaged through the pantry shelves, after shoving the paper schedule into one of his jeans pockets.

"What are you looking at?" He bristled in Proto’s direction.

"Oh, nothing.”

That infuriating smile didn’t waver, as Proto’s gaze slid away, placing the blender in the sink and running the faucet. Pitchiner growled and gave up on the pantry, proceeding to the common area empty handed. Flopping on the couch, he turned on the TV, idly flicking through the channels, volume on mute, schedule crinkling in his pocket annoyingly, a reminder of his failure. 

Later Pitch came out of his room, lugging several heavy overnight bags with a put-upon, strained expression. To Pitchiner’s surprise, Piki followed him out. He hadn’t heard them bickering, usually when the twins were in proximity it was obvious from across campus. The bags dropped, with a dramatic huff of effort, and Pitch glared behind him at Piki. “For coming over here to help me pack, you certainly haven’t helped very much." 

"I did help, I told you that you didn’t need half of those clothes, or books." Piki was perfectly unruffled by Pitch’s answering glower.

"So you’re headed out today, huh? I thought your parents were driving down to pick you up tomorrow?" 

"Change of plan,” Piki supplied, in a bored tone. “They have some event they are attending tomorrow, and wanted to drag Pitch and I along.” 

“Yes, it’s back to the thrilling upstate suburban lifestyle." Pitch rolled his eyes, and drifted over to perch on the arm of the sofa, beside Pitchiner. "I’d rather stay here, truthfully.”

“Naw, you wouldn’t. Trust me. Hauling your laundry down the block and having to put up with the crappy internet would get old in a hurry. You deserve some time away. I’m sure your folks want to see you. It’s just a couple months. I’ll write to you." Pitchiner put his hand on Pitch’s knee, hoping he sounded cool and casual, and swallowing the sudden spike of desperation at the thought of spending the summer alone on a nearly empty campus with no lacrosse and no Pitch to distract him from a dreary pedantic class.

"Hey Piki, is Jack staying at your place this summer, or going home?" It was a shot in the dark, but having Jack around would be something at least.

"He’s going home to his parents as well. I invited him to stay, of course, but it’s what he wants.”

“Oh. Figured." 

Proto’s tall figure wove around the haphazardly strewn stools pulled slightly out from the kitchen island, and silently moved into the common area, half-consumed smoothie in one hand.

"Of course, I’ll be staying here, like I always do.”

Pitchiner’s eyes widened, slightly. “What? But don’t you…?" Then he realized that he hadn’t actually considered what his roommate did over the summer. What Proto’s parents, his home life, his personal history, were like. "Don’t… you… have a job or something?” He swallowed, attempting to round off his sentence in a way that wouldn’t betray his growing horror. 

He thought things had been looking grim a moment ago, with the prospect of being alone for the summer. Now he was alone with Proto. He had not anticipated the universe going out of its way to make things worse. 

Pitchiner put on his best face later that afternoon, when he carried Pitch’s bags to his parent’s sleek expensive car, dumped them in the trunk and laughed affectionately when Pitch dragged him into a long ravishing kiss, regardless of Piki’s low noise of disgust and complaint about excessive public displays of affection, and his parents probably giving them a sidelong and knowing look through the rear view mirror.

“Haha- woah there, easy. Your folks are watching. Have a good time, babe. Don’t forget to call me in between your soirées. We can Skype if you want?”

“Oh?” Pitch raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Pitchiner suddenly had some very lurid visions of how exactly they might go about a specific kind of video chat, behind locked doors. He grinned, and cupped Pitch’s chin in his hand, holding his head still while he left a lingering kiss, sweetly, in the center of his forehead. 

He watched them drive off, then turned to look back at his dorm room. His dorm room where Proto was, alone, doing god knows what. He massaged his temples, and decided that the best thing to do was to take a long ride across town on his bike and hope the speed and adrenaline would keep him from feeling like an abandoned puppy who’d been locked in the house with a exotic reptile. It was going to be a very long summer indeed.

———————————————-

“Okay, so listen up. If we’re going to be ALONE TOGETHER for the next few months there’s gotta be some ground rules. ” 

Pitchiner’s arms crossed over his chest. His square shoulder rested on the doorframe of his roommate’s lair. He kept his gaze hard-set on Proto; it took a lot of self-discipline to keep from ogling the strange array of objects that could be made out in the dim haze of the heavily curtained room. Half the things on Proto’s bed stand were things he was sure came right out of a Hellraiser movie, and if he looked directly at them, he’d start to think about what they were used for, and that would probably be the first step to a long slide into alcoholism. 

“I put up with a lot of shit from you this year, but I’m not holding a grudge or anything. We needed a last minute housing arrangement, and we got one, and you’ve been real damn obliging about putting up with the racket Pitch makes when he’s being boned.” Pitchiner stated matter-of-factly, raising his palms in the air in a not-that-it-has-anything-to-do-with-me gesture. No point in pretending like Proto didn’t know exactly what was going on in his neighbor’s bedroom, when he was probably documenting each incident for a future Nature Channel documentary… " But this is different. Summer break, new rules. We’re startin’ with a clean slate since it’s just me and you.“

Proto perched unmoving on his bed, listening (Pitchiner hoped) with a glazed look of mildly attentive indifference, offering no comment.

Pitchiner stuck out a finger and forged ahead. "Rule #1: No barging in to my room without knocking. Or actually any room I’m in with a closed door." Like the bathroom… he really hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. But better to cover all the bases so Proto couldn’t claim ignorance.

"Rule #2: Don’t mess with my stuff and I won’t mess with yours. I don’t want to see that damn ferret anywhere surprising, either….Are you even listening?" 

"Mm.” Proto made a pleasant, noncommittal noise. He had turned his attention back to his crochet project, having heard just about enough to see what direction this little tirade was taking. 

“I’m serious, Proto. I already wish I were anywhere else but on campus, if you’re gonna make this harder, I swear I’ll make your existence a living hell.”

“Oh? Do you think you could?”

Proto’s flat, dark eyes turned back up at him, and for once, he wasn’t smiling. 

Pitchiner’s skin prickled, his shoulders straightening from where they were leaned, some lingering animal instinct of his responding to what it perceived as a threat. 

“I’d be interested to see you try. No one’s managed to yet.” Finished the creepiest-roomate-on-earth. There was that trademark smile again, and though it made his expression that much irritating, at least it was familiar. Pitchiner shuddered and turned to leave, hoping he didn’t encounter Proto’s new chill-inducing expression ever again. 

“Whatever. Look, just… let’s try to stay out of each other’s way, alright? Truce.” He tried to ignore the sound of Proto chuckling melodically as he shut the door behind him. Two ground rules would have to suffice. 

——–

The truce lasted about a week. Pitchiner had just begun to hope that things would be going smoother than expected during his extended stay at NDU. He had been about to head to the store (a chore that promised to be infinitely less traumatic without Pitch and company in tow), but something was missing. He had his keys in one hand, his helmet tucked under one arm, a black tank top and faded blue levis tucked into his black tooled-leather cowboy boots. The chill on his bare arms reminded him that he needed to grab one more thing– He thought he’d hung it up like usual, but maybe he’d left it thrown over a couch arm instead… he had gotten in kind of late from the bar last night.

Nothing. The couch was as jacket-free as the hook on his door. It wasn’t on the floor of his room either, which meant his options were getting kind of narrow. He swallowed, preparing himself for what had to come next.

“Hey man, have you seen my leather jacket?” He called out, voice admirably steady.

Silence answered. He’d have to take matters into his own hands. He came out of his room, paced down the hallway, and raised a fist to thump on Proto’s door, when he noticed it was already open. 

Yes. The door was open– and there, he saw, was his leather jacket. On Proto. On Proto’s bed. And it only got worse from there. 

The thief wasn’t wearing it– that would have been bad enough. No, he was tangled in it. Like two lovers sharing a post coital moment, Proto was curled on his side, face buried in the inside fold where the shoulder joined the armhole. One of his spidery arms was draped over the body of the fabric, one knee tucked over the jacket, so it lay against his (thankfully) clothed body. Pitchiner stood like a deer in the headlamp of a whole train-full of Oh Fuck No’s, as Proto raised his head and seemed finally to register his presence. 

“…Ah. I borrowed it.” He slowly uncurled from the rumpled leather embrace, sprawling backwards on the bed with a sort of blissful expression on his face. If Pitchiner had been a dog, his hackles would have been raised to bristling. 

“Well, I certainly do hope I wasn’t disturbing anything! Jesus, Proto, what the actual fuck!” He stammered, voice an octave higher than usual. " What the hell is going on here? I sort of need my jacket…though I’m not sure I want to touch it now. What the fuck were you doing to it?“

"Smelling it.”

It was then that Pitchiner noticed (though he would swear he wasn’t looking on purpose) that Proto was sporting a full-masted erection under his tacky tweed slacks that looked like they belonged to someone’s grandfather. The smug motherfucker wasn’t even trying to hide it. 

Pitchiner’s eyes widened, he barely kept his jaw from dropping, speechless. He was sure he was going to be furiously angry, any second now. Any second. Instead there was only numb bewilderment. Why? Why the fuck was Proto getting his rocks off smelling his sweaty leather motorcycle jacket? Was that …hot? 

His lack of comprehension must have been amusing to Proto, because he laughed, sitting up slowly, and picking up the jacket with his slender fingers, folding it beside him on the bed, in an eerily domestic fashion. 

“Please, have it back. Wouldn’t want you having an accident without proper protection.”

It was bad luck to mention bike accidents. He was sure Proto knew that. He stared, and the anger still hadn’t overwhelmed his confusion.

“I don’t. even. have. words. for you right now.” Pitchiner mumbled around clenched teeth. He braved the couple of steps into Proto’s room until he was in arm’s length of his jacket, snatched it, and backed out of the room again as quick as he could. "You and I are going to have to renegotiate some terms when I get back.“

He nearly slammed the door behind him, staring down at the tainted article of clothing in his hands. 

Smelling it. He had been smelling it. Something in his gut twisted, close-cousin to disgust, but somehow more intimate.

Should he be flattered? Was Proto– god forbid– sort of into him? Or did he have some sinister ulterior motive? That was almost certainly the case. Gingerly, he put the jacket on, careful as if waiting for an ambush. But nothing about his jacket was different, nothing creepy in the pockets, no suspicious smells or textures or lingering dampness to betray worse violations than what he’d seen. Huh.

On the way to the store, he tried to think of some way to punish his roommate for his breach of Rule #2, but his brain was still failing to muster the appropriate level of outrage. It was a gorgeous clear day, crisp with the reminder of spring, but intense with the summer sun at it’s zenith. The deliriously blissful expression on Proto’s face as he inhaled what must have been his own musk and the smell of worn leather kept returning to him and, try as he might to get the image out of his head, it would not be banished. It was even just a little bit satisfying, and Pitchiner had no idea why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Proto and Pitchiner bond in a thrift store, and Pitchiner gets a surprise visit in his room.
> 
> NSFW: Oral sex/erotic choking.

Pitchiner stared at the broken coffee table in dismay. It must have really been on the fritz, just the weight of his dropped book bag on it caused one of the legs to splinter, and the glass top went careening into the ground with a sickening crunch. He was standing there looking at his book bag in a lovely glittering nest of jagged glass shards when Proto appeared. 

“Oops. It was probably a bad idea to sit on that.”

Pitchiner growled, snapping a glare up at Proto. “I did NOT sit on it. I just…It was my backpack." He pointed.

"…Mm." Proto kept walking, and Pitchiner rolled his eyes skyward and counted to five. All right, get the dustpan and broom….did they even have those? He was more of a cooking-casseroles and washing-dishes kind of guy, he couldn’t remember EVER sweeping or vacuuming in here. But it got done, which meant either Pitch (unlikely) or Proto made a habit of doing the floors. Before he turned to go start the search, Proto helpfully appeared with the above-mentioned items in both hands.

"Oh, uh, thanks. I'll…get the table." Teamwork with Proto felt weird. Yeah they were roommates, but in this dorm had never really been into talking about chores and division of labor in an orderly way. Basically whoever was most annoyed by the dirt accumulation on any given day was tasked with cleanup. The usual order of events went something like: Clean up, bitch at the roomies about it, be studiously ignored.

Gingerly, Pitchiner lifted the table by the outside edges, causing a few more straggler shards of glass to crunch to the pile on the carpet. He maneuvered it to the door, and got it out to the landing. When he returned, Proto was clearing the glass, with surprising efficiency, his long limbs folded into a crouch while he ushered the shards into his dust pan. There was something weird about Proto’s expression, but Pitchiner couldn’t place it. 

"Er, you think Pitch will have a hissy fit? The table was his, right?”

“I don’t think so. We’ll just buy another one.”

“Yeah, good idea. Aw hell, I’ve never been to a furniture store in my life, I don’t even know where the nearest one is.”

“I do.”

Pitchiner looked at Proto, surprised that he had proven useful twice in the last five minutes, and with hardly any infuriating remarks.

————-

“Proto, this is a thrift store." Standing in the parking lot, Pitchiner looked at the sign on the building incredulously. They had taken Proto’s Oldsmobile Delta, a real junker of a car that was definitely not one of the nicer heirlooms a person could have inherited. Well as long as the stupid table fit in, he wouldn’t worry about being seen in it. With Proto. Yeah, good thing it was summer break, and no one of note was around to notice.

"Yes? I can’t understand why everyone doesn’t buy used. It’s ridiculous to buy furniture anywhere else, you can get a far better value on previously possessed things. It seems to me that most items are more valuable the longer they’ve been around, not less.”

“If you say so. But won’t we just be stuck with whatever donated stock they happen to have in? I was going to try to find one that looked like the old one..”

“Don’t be sentimental, Pitchiner." That luke-warm smile spread on Proto’s face again, and Pitchiner’s hands impulsively convulsed into fists, then he sighed heavily, running his hand back through his hair. 

"Let’s just get it over with.”

Inside the store, something curious happened. Proto seemed thrilled, and not in an entirely sinister way. He was behaving like a kid in a candy shop, touching things, turning over knickknacks to see the prices, taking articles of clothing off racks to feel the texture, rummaging through piles of dusty old lady jewelry. 

It had been a couple of days since the leather jacket incident, and neither of them had mentioned it again, despite Pitchiner meaning to give Proto a harsh talking-to. When he’d come home, Proto acted like nothing happened, and Pitchiner lost his resolve. Easier to put that uncomfortable interaction way out of mind.

A few minutes later, Pitchiner had found a table, and he had to say it was a pretty awesome table. And cheap, too. He hauled it up to the front to pay. Proto was already at the counter, looking through bracelets in a shallow tray. He had one in his hands, and was studying it with interest, a heavy hammered-metal bangle. Obviously costume jewelry, of little actual value, but it was nice somehow. Like something a pharaoh might wear. Proto put it on and looked at it on his wrist, fascinated, turning his hand. Then he took it off again, and a moment later Pitchiner grabbed it out of his hands.

A flicker of dismay touched Proto’s features just for an instant, before it was gone. Proto had a knack for beating swift retreats behind his guarded cool; Pitchiner had never seen him betray a real emotion for longer than an eyeblink before it was carefully smoothed out like a wrinkle in a bed sheet. He wondered if his tall roommate had expected to be berated for trying on women’s jewelry, and if so, if it had happened some time in his past. He matched Proto’s carefully closed expression with an easy smirk, and with a metallic clink, set the bracelet on top of the counter, next to the furniture tag for his table. After he was rung up, he shoved the receipt in his back pocket with his wallet, and handed the bracelet back to Proto. Long fingers closed around it, reverently, but Pitchiner didn’t look to see his reaction before leaning down to hoist up the coffee table under one arm. 

“C'mon, let’s get out of here.” 

Sliding the bracelet onto his slender wrist, Proto smiled, and followed him out. 

———–

Later that night, there was a knock on his door. It was the first time Proto had knocked, though definitely not the first time Proto had snooped around in his things, based on the Leather Jacket Incident. 

“….Yeah? What do you want?" 

"May I come in?”

“Um." Pitchiner looked for an excuse to say no, but he was fully clothed, not masturbating furiously (for once), not texting with Pitch, and not busy with anything other than reviewing his assigned reading. "I guess.”

The doorknob turned, the door slid open quietly, and Proto stepped inside. 

“I just wanted to say thank you." He held up his hand, he was wearing the gold bracelet. "I thought I would provide you with some entertainment. I know you’ve been a bit…frustrated without Pitch around.”

Pitchiner gaped while the gears in his brain spun ineffectually, trying to process this information. “Is this.. Is this a proposition?” He stammered, a half-cocked and bewildered smile on his lips. "Proto, hey man, seriously. It cost like 2.99 you don’t have to pay me back in sexual favors. I’m not interested.“

"You’re not? What is it you aren’t interested in? Is it me, or is it what you think I’m interested in doing? I’m not proposing anything unusual. Just a little relief.”

“…And what do you get out of it? Blackmail material?”

“I give you my word, it will be between you and me. I do enjoy watching you and Pitch engage in your little melodramas, but blackmail would be far too unsubtle for me to enjoy. It wouldn’t mean anything, Kozmotis, I just want a diversion, and so do you.”

“Yeah? What exactly are you thinking?" Pitchiner asked warily, deciding it wasn’t the time to protest the use of his given name. He had a feeling what ‘quick and easy diversion’ meant in terms of sexual encounters; he had plenty of that in the dark corners of gym locker rooms, with other boys curious and bold enough to step over the line into experimentation. But those were usually just quick hand jobs, or else someone’s mouth on him in the shower stall, the steam and the pounding of water on tiles drowning out the low, desperate noises that couldn’t be stifled. 

"Unbutton your pants, and I’ll show you." Proto tilted his head curiously, looming over the desk at which Pitchiner was seated. Lamplight illumined the underside of Proto’s face eerily, accentuating the long planes of his cheekbones and jaw. 

'Get the hell out of my room’ was on the tip of Pitchiner’s tongue, but he found that his body betrayed him. He had gotten used to better than his own spit-slicked hand, these last couple of semesters. He missed Pitch’s clever tongue, and the rush of adrenaline that came with the unpredictability of a second variable. Once wouldn’t hurt. Just once. Just to sate his curiosity. And then maybe Proto would leave him the hell alone. 

Before he could check himself, his hands were undoing the button and zip of his jeans, and Proto was sinking soundlessly down to his knees. He didn’t touch Pitchiner, or ask anything else, he just turned his gaze upwards until Pitchiner had freed his cock. He kept looking at him, just moment after it had passed into uncomfortable, terse silence. Pitchiner had just a moment of gripping panic that threatened to turn into explosive violence, in which he thought that Proto might have just been baiting him. Might slide back to his feet, laughing, and leave. It might have been an elaborate joke at his expense. He grit his teeth, and was about to say something, when Proto’s tongue licked across his knuckles on the hand that was wrapped around his cock, warm and wet. It dipped between the spaces of his fingers, breath tickling his sensitive flesh. He was only lazily half-hard, too uncertain to be fully aroused yet. 

Proto’s tongue laved his fingers, and the half inch of space where they touched his cock. Pitchiner exhaled, a little shaky, and let go, staring down at Proto for a moment, before tilting his head back and closing his eyes, deciding it would be better not to watch. Slender fingers slid up the underside of his member, lifting it so his mouth could press against the base, where the shaft touched his sack, sealing his mouth there in a vulgar kiss. A chill crawled up Pitchiner’s spine. It was -Proto- down there, kneeling between his knees. Why was he suddenly so aroused? Why was he even doing this? 

He started trailing the tip of his tongue from the base of Pitchiner’s cock, up to the head, licking delicately at his slit, wriggling the tip of his tongue in, just slightly. He was under a minute into this blow job and it was already the most unconventional one he’d ever had. He kept waiting for Proto to slide his mouth onto him and swallow his cock (isn’t that how it’s supposed to be done?) but Proto seemed perfectly content licking him like an ice cream cone. With frustrating delicacy, his tongue found the strangest and most surprisingly sensitive places, teasing him into full arousal. 

A little strained noise escaped him, as Proto sealed another sucking kiss on the side of his shaft, so close, but not quite what he wanted. His fingers flexed, where they were gripped on the chair arms, and he almost opened his mouth to say 'Get the fuck on with it’ but he didn’t. His cock was now fully flushed and straining, but he waited on Proto’s whim, held sway by a strange fascination and the intrigue of a new experience.

Proto paused , and Pitchiner opened his eyes a little to see him smiling up at him, eyes half-lidded with a sort of meditative lust. "You look a little frustrated, Kozmotis." The smile curved into a wider smirk, and he licked his lips. "Why don’t you show me what you want?" One finger trailed across the white knuckles of one of the hands he was clenching against the chair arms. That jerk knew what he wanted, he was toying with him, taunting him. Pitchiner thought of all those times he wanted to straight up punch the creep for his little insinuating comments, for his aggravating pleasantries at inappropriate moments. 

He fisted a hand roughly in Proto’s hair, his voice low and rough. 

"Yeah, I’ll show you.." 

A moment later, he forced him down on his cock. He encountered less resistance than he expected, thrusting up into the tight heat of Proto’s sealed lips, playing nice with no teeth. He groaned, hips sliding forward in his seat, back arching as his hand clenched harder in Proto’s hair. It was surprisingly fine and silky, he realized he’d expected it to be greasy. The thought was fleeting, as Proto swirled his tongue and swallowed him deeper. Pitchiner gasped as he was skillfully deep-throated, with not even a hint of choking or whimpering. He stared down, Proto’s eyes were closed in concentration, his cheeks faintly flushed with the effort. With sudden inexplicable compulsion, Pitchiner gripped both hands in Proto’s hair and held him there, not letting him come up for air. Slender fingers slid onto his thighs, not gripping, just resting. His face and ears started to flush dark red, brows knitting faintly, but he still didn’t struggle. Not until his lungs screamed at him from oxygen deprivation and his head started to spin, did his fingers clench into the denim of Pitchiner’s jeans, the muscles in his neck straining as he struggled to pull back for air. 

Pitchiner finally let him go, and he came up sputtering and gasping, a trail of thick saliva trailing from his lips to the end of Pitchiner’s cock. Pitchiner stared, awed, and Proto’s gaze slid up to him, breathing ragged. Then the fucker smiled, this time with a kind of smug approval, and Pitchiner growled, shoving Proto back down onto him, not wanting to think about it. Not wanting to acknowledge the lightning pulses of arousal that radiated from his loins to his gut when he was choking Proto on his cock. When he decided whether and when he could breathe. 

The pace picked up, Pitchiner’s hips twitching up into every stroke, head thrown back again, hands still clenched tight enough in Proto’s hair that it had to hurt, but he didn’t complain. He was pushing him roughly, making it hard for him to keep his breathing even. His teeth scraped once, on purpose, and Pitchiner cursed roughly under his breath, smacking his head and growling. Proto dug his nails into his thighs, but decided against biting down to show his displeasure at being struck in annoyance, luckily for Pitchiner. 

"Fuck, Proto… I’m close." His cock twitched and dripped into the heat of Proto’s mouth. Proto had gotten a hand wrapped around the base of his cock, making a ring with his fingers and squeezing down. Now he let go to cup his balls instead, fingers stoking obscenely, making him waver even closer. 

"Nngh, if you don’t come up for air you’re gonna get a mouthful…" Pitch never liked it, he assumed no one did, really. And since Proto had been obliging enough, he figured he would be a gentleman and give him the heads up. But instead, there was a gentle squeeze to his balls, just the right amount of tingling pressure, and Proto sucked harder, sealing his lips, and sliding all the way down, slow, tongue tracing tight, quick circles on the underside of his shaft. He made a low noise of surprise, and then groaned, loud, as orgasm hit him, bubbling up almost unexpectedly, blindingly intense. 

Proto stilled for a long moment, throat working as he swallowed Pitchiner’s load, and slid back up his softening cock slowly, stroking him with one hand and licking at the tip until he was sure he wasn’t dripping anymore. Pitchiner was too tingling and lightheaded to protest, even though he was sensitive, and Proto’s licking caused little shocks to jolt into his abdomen. 

"Christ, Proto, that was…." He stared, almost in disbelief. Proto looked back at him, licking his lips in a considering manner.

"I like the way you taste. Sharp, tangy, sort of salty, but not too bitter. " 

Pitchiner stared into middle space without blinking. He could have gone his whole life not knowing that information and been very, very happy.

He squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace, tucking himself gingerly back into his pants, buttoning and zipping up. What now? Was there something he should do for Proto? He glanced back down at him. He was casually combing his hair back into place with his fingers, and readjusting his scarf as he rose to his feet. He was hard, it was obvious from the near-tent in his slacks.

"Uh…did you want me to…?" Reciprocate? Though, he couldn’t quite bring himself to form the appropriate verb.

"No need, I can take care of myself." He smoothed down his rumpled shirt. "Besides, I doubt you have the interest or stamina right now. Maybe some other time. No need to knock, just invite yourself in.”

Pitchiner shivered and made the mental note that he was DEFINITELY going to knock, from now on. 

“Besides, I have to leave for awhile.”

Oh, and there was that. “Hey Proto, uh… where is it you go at night, anyway?" He was met by that unpleasantly mysterious smile. 

"Maybe someday I’ll tell you. Goodnight, Pitchiner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fanart!
> 
> SFW: http://nightmareships.tumblr.com/post/51038521755/mira-eyeteeth-lewdstickfigures-did-a-little  
> NSFW: http://esoterrible.tumblr.com/post/51132735654


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Proto’s night time activities are spied on by Pitchiner, and the discovery of things that Proto would have preferred to keep secret leads to some interesting new experiences in the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, bondage, penetrative sex, power play, bdsm, ect. (The sex scene takes like 4 pages. No regrets.)

Humidity soaked the air like a wet blanket, the shrill chorus of crickets punctuating the heavy summer night. Moonlight flooded the campus, bright enough to illuminate the grounds and anyone sneaking about on them clearly, the round mellow lights of the wrought iron lamp posts standing like sentinels along the neatly groomed sidewalks that crisscrossed the university greens. 

Pitchiner was following Proto– keeping off the path and just out of view, careful not to lag too far behind in case Proto ducked out of sight behind a building. Proto had left in his usual fashion, suspicious black duffle bag thrown over one shoulder, silently vacating the apartment and it’s sleeping or groggily studying tenants to disappear into the night. 

Two weeks ago, this had been just another thing his unbearably weird roommate did that Pitchiner wanted nothing to do with. But two weeks ago, he hadn’t caught Proto buried face first in his leathers, and one week ago, he hadn’t had the most disturbingly erotic blow job ever. So, though it was difficult to admit that anything had changed–Proto still treated him with the same amused and infuriating coolness–two weeks ago he would certainly not have been following him through the darkened campus, feeling a bit stupid, and hoping to hell that he wouldn’t be caught.

————————-

Proto knew he was being followed. Pitchiner, while brighter than most people gave him credit for, was less subtle than he imagined himself. He had just barely heard the vague crunch of his footfalls over the crickets, and had caught a glimpse behind himself when he had passed through the shadow of a large oak tree shading the moonlit sidewalk. Of course, he would have known the culprit without that stolen glance. Who else, after all, would be interested in tailing him on his nightly sojourns? 

He smirked to himself, and shifted the canvas strap of the heavy duffle bag where it bit into the bony ridge of his shoulder. First stop was the library. He stopped at the wide double doors, and placed the bag down, kneeling to rummage through. His fingers closed around a large, heavy key ring, and he straightened, thumbing through the brass and silver keys until he found the right one. These buildings were old, and no one had thought to spring the budget for a set of matching locks with a master key, so he had them all. Keys to closets, to supply cellars, to classrooms and labs, to faculty offices. He let himself in and locked the door behind him. He left his duffle bag by the door, he didn’t need it here. As he passed by the tables, he paused to pick up a hastily folded note that had been accidentally dropped beneath a table. Skimming it’s contents and finding nothing of interest, he carried it to the nearest trash can and got to work. It was interesting, seeing those things that were left behind on campus. Notebooks, hair scrunchies, half filled disposable coffee cups, with or without lipstick marks on the rim. Little pieces of people left thoughtlessly behind, painting a picture in small details of a varied student body, of a thriving daylight population, presence still lingering in the darkened buildings when there was no one but him to see it. 

When he finished with the library, he gathered up his bag and slipped out the back door, subtle, but not so careful that Pitchiner wouldn’t see him. He wondered how tenacious he would be, how long he would trail him to find locked doors. He visited the theater building, and the humanities wing, all neighbors on this side of the campus. When he reached his last stop for the night, the chemistry building, he left the door ajar. He was no longer sure if he was being followed, but if his roommate had made it this far, he might as well see. He didn’t even mind that the gesture might tip Pitchiner off to the fact that he was onto his little sleuthing game. He pleasantly imagined the uncertainty that would stutter his steps at the open door. Humans were such curious creatures, by nature, he couldn’t blame him for prying. But how compelling it would be if Pitchiner lost his nerve at the last minute, if he turned homeward unsatisfied. Either way, he could turn this situation to his advantage. 

He passed down the hallway and up the stairs to a supply closet near the laboratories on the second floor. With a loud jangling of keys, the lock turned. From inside, he hauled out a long rectangular box, struggling just a little with it’s weight, dragging it a couple of doors down, and into a classroom laboratory. There was a small window cut into the door, and he closed it. It wasn’t frosted, so if Pitchiner were planning on spying, he would have to run the risk of getting caught. Proto smirked, and made sure he began his work out of sight line of the window himself, but at a place where he could easily see whether someone was looking in. 

It took less time than he thought, really, before Pitchiner barged in on him. He -had- been making a godawful racket, certainly his roommate’s imagination had been racing. Splintering wood, the sound of heavy objects being dragged, the whirr of a cordless screwdriver. He looked up calmly when the door was wrenched open, and Pitchiner gaped at him, that charming vacant expression he sometimes wore on his face when he was still piecing together the evidence before him. There was a table dissembled in a messy pile, it’s edges burned, and a mangled bunsen burner, once bolted to it’s surface, now a tangle of partially-melted tubing and charred metal. Proto had his duffle bag open, a tool belt strapped around his slim waist, and was halfway through assembling an identical laboratory table out of the cardboard box he had dragged inside. 

“Well hello. Fancy seeing you here. What brings you to the chemistry building at ten past midnight?”

“What…what are you doing?” Pitchiner blurted out, defensively. 

“A job? It’s not very glamorous as jobs go, but I’ve been doing it a long time by now. You didn’t answer my question.”

“You're…uh…a maintenance guy?" It was obvious Proto’s answer hadn’t managed to solve any of the blatant confusion scrawled across Pitchiner’s face. 

"Maintenance, sometimes. I fill in janitorial duties when they happen to be short handed. I’ve done some electrical rewiring, and averted a couple of truly stunning plumbing emergencies.”

“Where did you learn how to do that?" Pitchiner looked positively floored. As if he hadn’t thought Proto knew how to do anything useful. As if he didn’t look like the sort that could accomplish such ordinary masculine feats as changing his own motor oil, or rewiring a burnt out breaker box. 

"Hmm, it’s all very easy I’m afraid. You can learn any of these things on the internet these days, if you just look." He had been offered the position a short time after had first enrolled, and the first couple of casual daylight-hours work-studies had gone rather south, due to the involvement of fellow students. He liked to work alone, and the night hours suited his schedule perfectly. It mattered little that he had never done that sort of work before, that sort of mental limitation might baffle a less enterprising individual, but not him. 

"Now. Why did you follow me?" He pinned Pitchiner with a truly rare serious look, as his voice dropped into a deeper, quieter register, pronouncing every word carefully. He watched Pitchiner’s feathers ruffled, and was secretly pleased. "You know I like to keep my private affairs private.”

Pitchiner looked a little nervous, rubbing the back of his neck, then defensive. “Hey, what was I supposed to think? You run off in the middle of the night… maybe I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t rooming with a psychopath.”

“And? Have you come to a conclusion?”

Pitchiner stared. “..I’m really very upset that you followed me. I deserve to keep my little secrets if I want to. I imagine you’ll have to make it up to me.” Proto’s expression was less serious and more sly, now, and Pitchiner caught it.

“What’s the big deal?" He crossed his arms. "I have a summer job too, usually. I mean, not this summer, since I’ve got class, but.. still.”

“Do you?" Proto’s interest seemed to pique. "What is it?”

“Eh, nothing glamorous, I help out at a shipyard. My dad’s got an old army buddy who runs it, I sling crates around, go run errands, haul rope, weld holes in shipping containers, whatever. Not really my thing, but it pays well, and my parent’s aren’t exactly loaded, unlike the Brothers Black." Proto tilted his head, thoughtfully. 

"Yes, they do have certain advantages, don’t they. Ah, Pitchiner, I’ve thought of a way you can make this little discretion up to me. You do want to apologize, don’t you? I’d hate for you to be on my blacklist.”

Only Proto had the ability to make threats so casually and still be menacing. He laughed. “Oh yeah? This should be good.”

“Mm, go back to the dorm, and wait in my room for me. You can talk to Mr. Pickles if you get bored, but I shouldn’t be long." The table was mostly completed after all. Pitchiner eyed it, then Proto, suspiciously.

"I’ll think about it. Does that involve having your mouth on me again?”

“No, we’ve already done that." A chill went up Pitchiner’s spine that was at least half excitement. "But I can certainly think of something equally as interesting.”

“Yeah, all right. Fine. But just so you know, I WON’T be talking to Mr. Pickles.”

————————-

‘Not long’ turned out to be way longer than Pitchiner was comfortable with. He’d made the rash decision to keep the lights off, so he wouldn’t be tempted to scrutinize the contents of Proto’s room, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the crack under the door, he started to make them out anyway. He was lying on his back on Proto’s bed, might as well be comfortable if he was going to be stuck here. He thought he’d even nap if Proto took too long, but he was distracted. He couldn’t help but search for Mr. Pickles, better to know where he was than to be unpleasantly surprised. The puffer fish dangling off of the lamp pull was just as bad, honestly, thank god Proto hadn’t named the damn thing and started carrying it around too. 

After what was probably less than an hour, the door creaked open, silhouetting Proto’s tall frame against the lit hallway. He couldn’t see it, but Pitchiner swore he was smiling. Smug bastard. He growled, sitting up and stalking across the room, pent up energy fueling a bit of justified aggression.

“Took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

Pitchiner growled and grabbed at Proto’s shirt front, surprised when it caught in his fist. Usually Proto swerved out of the way with unerring timing, just out of the grasp of Pitchiner’s fingers. 

“Do you want to have me? Then you have to do what I say. Let go of me, and remove your clothing. If that’s not agreeable to you, you’re free to leave." 

"Yeah? What about you? Why am I always the one getting naked?" The grumbled complaint was half-hearted, as he stripped off his shirt. He wasn’t about to leave after he’d already waited an hour, wondering what might happen.

"Maybe later. Please continue.." One arm rested across his chest, hand tucked in the crook of the other arm, bent with a finger resting thoughtfully on his lips, watching Pitchiner with a barely veiled hunger, matched with a very pleased little smile. 

Truth be told, Pitchiner didn’t mind so much being naked, and he found it flattering that Proto enjoyed looking. Besides, he was used to it from a whole school career of group sports and shared locker rooms, so he’d learned not to be self-conscious. Not that there was much to be self-conscious about. Toned muscles created dips and valleys in the thin hard light of Proto’s overhead light fixture, a peppering of black hair on his chest dipped down to a thicker trail starting at his navel. He unbuckled his pants, and dropped them with his underwear to the floor around his ankles, kicking himself loose and bending down to pull off his motorcycle boots and socks. Proto simply watched him, unmoving, from the position he had taken up. 

"All right, now what?" Pitchiner turned around to face Proto, stance easy and casual, not betraying any trace of nervousness, if he felt any. 

"Now lie on the bed. On your back, please, and close your eyes.”

“What? I’ll get back on the bed but I am NOT closing my eyes. I guarantee, whatever contraption you pull out of your magic sex toy box will surprise me whether I can see it or not.

"Hmm, we’ll see." He walked closer to Pitchiner, who wasn’t getting horizontal fast enough for his tastes, and placed the fingertips of his hand in the center of his broad chest, pushing backwards, light but insistent, forcing him to step back until the backs of his thighs hit the mattress edge. Then he gave a slightly harder shove, and Pitchiner allowed it, sprawling backwards with a surprised laugh. 

"I hadn't pegged you for a 'dominant in the bedroom’ type, Proto.”

“Dominant? Oh, I wouldn’t say so. I just want to show you something, and I don’t want you to interfere.”

“Interfere? Why–” Pitchiner was cut off as metal circlets locked securely around his wrists with a click. The handcuffs threaded through one of the bars on the metal frame of the headboard, and cut into his skin cold and sharp. He narrowed his eyes, hoping against the slowly rising tide of his suspicion and discomfort that he wasn’t going to regret this. 

Only a moment later, long fingers ghosted down his chest, brushing over his nipples as a light afterthought, and trailed down the ridge of his hip, and down his leg to curl around his ankle. His thoughts blanked for a moment, at that spidery touch, inhaling sharply at the attention to his nipples, already hardened to nubs in the cool air of the room.

Proto smiled, pleased. “Sensitive?" One finger curled to stroke the arch of his foot, tickling, and Pitchiner’s knee jerked instinctively, face scrunching unpleasantly. Proto only laughed, and grabbed his ankle in an iron grip, pulling his leg straight and wrapping a narrow length of black silk around it, knotting and doubling back so a section crossed his instep like a stirrup, then running the long ends of the silk tie over the edge of the bed. They passed through an o-ring that out of the corner of Pitchiner’s eye appeared to have been drilled right into into the frame of his dormatory-regulation bed. The thought of the inexplicable holes in Proto’s bed frame when he eventually moved out or graduated made him smirk. Then again, maybe he intended to settle permanently, tormenting generations of students bold enough to move into the suspicious Last Available Dorm Room? Now there was a sobering thought. Just how old was Proto, anyway? He’d been attending part time, and obviously working, probably to pay his tuition. He could, in theory, stay for as long as he wanted. 

Tangled in those thoughts, he didn’t put up any resistance when his other ankle was bound, taking notice only when a quick, hard tug on the silk length drew his ankle across the sheets, spreading his legs to a wide V, both feet tied close to the outside edge of the mattress. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, and the metal links of the handcuffs clanged against the bars in the headboard. 

"Now, now, you should know better. " Proto tilted his head, then disappeared from sight, crouching to rummage under his bed. There was a scrape of boxes shifting position on the wood floor, and a dragging noise as he found whatever he was looking for. Several objects were placed aside, and then he came up with a long piece of red yarn in one hand, and a large opaque tupperware bowl in the other. His bed stand had been recently cleared, and he set the bowl down, prying off the top, and perching on the edge of the mattress, red string in hand. He leaned over to touch Pitchiner’s half-hard cock, wilted a bit from the cool air and the awkward spread of his limbs, but perking up quickly enough at the prospect of a sexual encounter, no matter how unconventional. And it responded with alarming ease to the slide of Proto’s hand, Pitchiner flushed, groaning low, as those fingers encircled him. Proto hadn’t touched him like this last time, he’d used his mouth for all the stroking, only touching his balls, and wrapping around the base of him to apply sweet pressure. Proto’s words came back to him then, We’ve already done that. He wondered, belatedly, if everything was that way with Proto, if he never gave repeat performances. A pretty harrowing quality in a prospective lover, he had to admit. Then again, to treat each moment of acute pleasure like a precious fleeting thing, knowing he would never have it that way again… and the certainty of knowing that anything distasteful, once suffered, would never be revisited, well. Maybe that wasn’t so bad.

The stroking stopped just as he was getting used to the pleasurable friction wrapped around his erection, and he groaned in protest when he was bereft. Proto drew the yarn through his fingers, and pulled a short length taut between both hands, leaning down slowly, he slid it beneath Pitchiner’s sack, and wrapped it once securely around the base of him, a rougher and more pointed sensation than the squeezing ring of his fingers had been, the last time. The lone loop of yarn was tied in a hard double-knot, straining dangerously, the thin strand cutting deep into his sensitive skin. Breath hitching, Pitchiner had the foresight to fleetingly wonder with vague terror how that was going to come off again. The yarn was looped again, and tied again, looped and tied. After a couple of passes, the sensation was less sharp, more of a steady, strong pressure, pressing the pounding of his blood into his length, making the rather impressive shaft shift an even darker shade of red. His breathing evened, and his head fell back against the mattress, a sheen of sweat already standing out on his forehead. And he had a feeling they’d barely gotten started.

A sharp tug on the end of the string elicited another guttural groan from Pitchiner, his cock bobbing once, like a marionette. Proto smiled, and ran the pad of his forefinger over the tip of his cock, considering, then dropped the rest of the string to coil in haphazard loops on his chest, turning back to the bedside table. His hand dipped into the tupperware, and came up with a handful of clothespins, which he dropped on the bed, on and around Pitchiner’s torso. He tensed visibly, and opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again when skilled fingers circled and tweaked his nipples, accompanied by a low musical chuckle. 

"Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt very much. And you’ll like the payoff.” And the clothespins went on. Pitchiner tensed as his skin was pinched in the rough grasp of the first one, then exhaled, surprised, at how little it hurt. He could barely feel it, a light pinch of sensation. Proto chuckled at his surprise, and focused on his work. He put them on in a curving pattern, starting at Pitchiner’s hip, crossing over in the middle of his stomach on the diagonal. Before each was clipped to flesh, he threaded the red string through the open jaws of the clamp, so they were securely connected. He teased Pitchiner’s nipple with the edge of one of the clips, and Pitchiner held his breath, red flushing up his neck and face as the nub was pinched and drawn up away from his body. When the clip was applied, he barely managed not to bellow in surprise. The sensation was suddenly intense where on his skin it had been mild.

“Augh! GodDAMN it, not there!" Thrashing against the metal cuffs that held him mercilessly in position, he growled at Proto’s gleaming smile. 

"You don’t like that?" Proto brushed his fingers up the line of clothespins already arrayed in a neat line up Pitchiner’s chest. They had only pinched at first, but the longer they stayed on, the more they started to burn. But he barely noticed, the one on his nipple felt like a hot-iron brand, and he groaned, thudding his head back into the mattress, jaw clenched tight. "You sick motherfucker…take it OFF OR I SWEAR I’LL.." Pitchiner’s threat fell hollow, considering he was completely and helplessly bound. 

"No 'please’? Well, never mind. But next time I expect you to ask politely…” The clip came off, gently, and he shuddered in relief, the abused flesh throbbing as the blood rushed back to it, his breathing ragged. “It is nice to know that you’re so sensitive there…" Proto smirked, and continued placing the clips, down the other side so that the two lines formed an X shape that curved from just below his nipples, over his ribs, and crossed in the center of his stomach, moving to finish at the soft skin of his groin, just inside his hips. Then, to Pitchiner’s horror, he clipped one to the base of his cock, on the underside, just above where the red string tied him. It pinched uncomfortably, just on this side of pain, the string wrapped around him causing his blood-gorged cock to be both more and less sensitive simultaneously.

The clips were starting to distract him from pleasure, though, two burning lines up his chest, shifting when he inhaled. He didn’t notice where or when Proto had gotten the lube, just that his hand, when it returned to circle his cock, was warm and slick. He groaned, and some of the tension left his body, trembling at the exquisite pleasure stacked effectively against the pinpoints of pain, forcing his mind to focus on both things completely, drowning in sensation. It was way too much, and somehow he could take it all. Wanted it all. 

Kneeling on the bed between Pitchiner’s spread legs, Proto’s other hand slipped down to probe at his hole, slick and dripping with lube. Pitchiner gasped, but overwhelmed as he was, he couldn’t find the words or mental presence to protest. He didn’t even know if he wanted to, as that finger pushed into him, so slow it was barely a stretch, even when he clenched down on the foreign intrusion. Proto was still stroking him, building an even and tantalizing rhythm, washing away his objections on a wave of blissfully familiar arousal. Time stretched on unmarked, and the burning of the clothespins started to fade into a cold numbness, the skin pinched between them paling. And Proto’s hands never stopped moving, slow and calculated and skillful, pressing another finger in as he squeezed down with his other hand, pulling a ragged gasp from Pitchiner. He curled and twisted his fingers, looking for the right spot to press, waiting until Pitchiner’s spine arched in alarm, then keeping them there, speeding up his strokes, until Pitchiner’s groans had turned to babbling.

"Aghh, fuck, Proto, damn it, please, don’t stop… unghh, just…right there…" His cock had started to drip, and as it throbbed, close to release, Proto slowed down. Pitchiner’s eyes snapped open, head lifting from where it had been thrown back, staring at Proto like he was going to murder him the second those handcuffs came off. He only laughed. 

"No, no. We can’t have you spend so soon. I have other plans." He leaned over to rummage in the box he’d pulled out from under his bed, and came back up with two intricate-looking devices that looked a bit like metal leaves connected by a thin silver chain. Squeezing the edges at the center caused the clamps (for it was now obvious what they were) to open, and Proto carefully affixed them to his nipples, tugging the chain with a deft little pull to tighten them. "Clover clamps,” he said, as if that explained everything. “If your nipples are too sensitive for clothespins, we won’t be trying these on you anytime soon.”

“Now,” His expression hardened into something almost fierce, the smile that still spread across his thin lips was cut with some hidden sadistic intent. “Do you want to be fucked?" Pitchiner gaped, not sure if he was serious. "It’s very tempting, with you spreadeagled and dripping like that. Have you ever taken it before? Here? Ever 'experimented’?" The fingers in his hole curved, rubbing him, and he grit his teeth, breathing hard. "No..argh.. NO. Not like this…" Panic rose in his chest, and he wondered for a fleeting instant if Proto would take him anyway, regardless of what h said, or wanted. He looked like he might, with that strange focus in his expression. He was extremely -present-. The Proto that Pitchiner knew was always cooly amused and distant. When he looked at him now, he saw only a penetrating interest, a desire that pinned Pitchiner down as easily as his bonds, and closed his throat as the quick pounding of his heart rang in his ears. Had he had gotten himself into a dangerous situation, letting himself be handcuffed? He’d known Proto was a bit of a sociopath, but… His racing thoughts calmed, as Proto’s fingers slid out of him, the hand that was stroking his cock moved to trail fingers lightly, comforting, against his chest. 

"All right. Shh. No need to look at me like that. I’m not actually a monster, you know." He tilted his head, running his fingers over the clips. As they jostled, the numbness receded, and the pain soaked into his taut skin again. "Are you ready to get these off?" Pitchner nodded still a bit in shock, and Proto picked up the end of the string. It suddenly dawned on Pitchiner that the string wasn’t just aesthetic. 

"Fuck….WAIT!” It was too late. Proto leaned back, and yanked at the same time. The clothespins ripped off in a quick series of quiet snaps, and Pitchiner yelled in pain. Blood rushed back, and it fucking HURT, but then Proto was leaning over him, tongue licking the marks left on his skin, mouth sealing against him, humming and kissing, and the sudden pain receded quickly, leaving relief in it’s wake. Proto moved up to lick his nipples, playfully flicking them with his tongue, as Pitchiner took deep breaths, feeling as though some tension had unravelled in him. The silver chain of Proto’s nipple clamps tickled against him, cold. He noticed, then, that the clothespin on the base of his cock had not been ripped off with the rest. Proto’s long fingers moved down to play with it, then gently released it, as Pitchiner bit his lip. It was such a little thing, a small consideration, a tenderness, and he suddenly felt guilty for thinking that Proto had it in him to take Pitchiner against his will.

Proto leaned over him, and a moment later the steel bands of the handcuffs had clicked open. Quick as lightening, Pitchiner’s hands wrapped themselves around Proto’s slender throat, with a growl. Proto managed a small gasp, then smiled, going still in Pitchiner’s grip and licking his lips, eyes lidded. It was about then, with a muttered curse, that Pitchiner realized his legs were still tied. Proto wheezed, and coughed when he let go. He’d probably crushed his windpipe, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry. “Untie me.”

With a small smile, he complied, picking out the knots in the silk with practiced ease. Pitchiner looked down at dismay at the kinky crochet project still hopelessly knotted around him, holding his still-throbbing cock captive. So what now? He was free, and a glance at Proto showed him waiting, standing beside the bed watching Pitchiner with something like anticipation on his face. 

Standing, he grabbed his slender roommate by the scarf, and yanked him forward roughly, his voice grating. “Get your goddamn pants around your knees, NOW." Proto’s eyes widened slightly, and there was a moment of hesitation, before fingers flew to the button on his slacks, and they were open and pushed down, his milky pale flesh exposed from waist to about mid-thigh, where his rucked pants and underwear caught. He was hard, his cock sprung to attention once freed from the confines of his pants, but Pitchiner didn’t touch him. Instead, he whirled him around forcefully, shoving him face-first into the bed, ass in the air, nipple clamps trapped and tightening sandwiched between the weight of his torso and the sheets. One hand braced against his lower back, pinning him down, and Pitchiner spit into one hand, slicking his cock. 

"You wanna back out, back out now. Otherwise I’m going to fuck you raw." A small noise from Proto, muffled in the mattress, that sounded suspiciously like a groan of eager arousal. His arms had splayed over his head, graceful hands fisted into the tangled sheets. It awoke something fierce in Pitchiner, something dark. He wanted to hear Proto beg for mercy. He wanted him to crumble and surrender that cool implacable calm to baser desires, wanted him to be vulnerable as Pitchiner had been, helplessly opened. 

Proto’s feet slid to a wider stance, spine arching as his hips slanted up from the edge of the bed, and that was a clear enough invitation. Wrapping both hands roughly around his hips, he lined himself up, and pulled Proto back onto him, forcing his way past any resistance. With no preparation, it had to burn, but Proto stayed still, and soundless, absorbing the shock of rough penetration without complaint. Pitchiner growled, and shifted one hand to grab a handful of Proto’s scarf, pulling back so his head was forced back, choking him without completely cutting off his air. Then he moved in him, long hard strokes, pulling out to the tip, then slamming in rough so his balls slapped against Proto’s, throbbing where the yarn held them in a punishing vice. He would have come sooner, but that ring of carefully knotted string held his orgasm back, though he could feel it surging forward, striving to flood over the barrier that fenced it. Proto had started to make small gasping noises beneath him, struggling for air, snapping his hips backwards into the thrusts, knuckles white where they clenched hard into the sheets. He shuddered, silently, and his hands went slack, clenching and convulsing around Pitchiner. He skipped a beat, in confusion, then realized that Proto had come. He let go of his scarf, letting him breathe easier, and grasped a handful of his hair instead, thrusts going shallow and fast, letting go of his controlled pace. When orgasm hit, it was intense, with a sharp edge of pain as it squeezed past the binding ring. He groaned loudly, buried to the hilt in Proto as he shot his load, shuddering. Afterwords he collapsed on top of him, vaguely wondering if that counted as post-coital snuggling, cock slipping out of him as it slowly softened. He heard Proto’s breathing become deep and even, his slim body otherwise motionless under Pitchiner’s bulk. 

Pitchiner laughed, and rolled off onto his back, reaching over to muss Proto’s hair even more. "Goddamn…. that was really something. I’ve never…quite like that…I had no idea." Proto slowly coaxed his body to move, rolling over onto his side with a trademark smirk already sliding back onto his features. "Oh?" An elbow propped up under his head. "Can I take that to mean you’ve enjoyed yourself?”

“You’re infuriating, you know that?" Pitchiner smirked, a sort of strange euphoria settling into his muscles, rubbing a hand over his face. "You really need me to say it? Yeah, I had a good time. A weird time, but… good.”

“Mm." Proto unpropped his arm, rolling over onto his back, revealing a sticky mess on his stomach, and a small puddle on the sheets he’d rolled off of. "So did I." Pitchiner’s eyebrows raised, amused. "What a mess. I guess we should shower. I call dibs!” Proto just smiled, unfazed, as Pitchiner shook his head and got up, only to be distracted by Proto releasing the nipple clamps. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, caught in the intense sensation of blood returning to the sensitive spot. It was then that Pitchiner realized that his cock was still decorated like a christmas tree. “Aw, shit. Proto, I hope to god you have a plan for getting this off…" Proto simply pointed. On the bedside table were a pair of medical scissors, the kind you find in emergency first-aid kits for cutting off clothing and soiled bandages and the like, one edge blunted and flat to slide easily against the skin without causing accidental stabbing. "Oh." It struck Pitchiner that this was more preparation and foresight than he had expected from his roommate, not that he wasn’t grateful. Proto must make a habit of this sort of thing… with whom, he wondered? Shaking his head, he decided to take the scissors into the bathroom with him, AWAY from Proto and whatever unexpected thing he might say or do next. 

Alone on his bed, Proto’s smile only widened, fingers trailing lazily through the mess on his abdomen. He already had an idea for next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in May 2013 for the Nightmare Dork Unversity AU fandom.
> 
> \----
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR’S NOTES:
> 
> I hereby dub this ship "hatemuffin”! This first chapter was not very NSFW, but I promise that future chapters will be written to BREAK FRAGILE MINDS WITH UNSPEAKABLY HENIOUS KINKS. (Actually, the plan is some straight up more-realistically-depicted consensual BDSM) Stay tuned for the implementation of the menagerie of sex toys on Proto’s bedside table.
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: 
> 
> Many, many, many lavish praises and thanks to nightmare-jockstrap(.tumblr.com) who beta’d and edited the crap out of this fic! Without whom this fic would not be anywhere near as comedy gold, or even as good >_> Let’s be honest with ourselves, nightmare-jockstrap basically rewrote this for me, thank you bebe.
> 
> Dedicated to wrenrising(.tumblr.com) who inspired this madness in us, via their brilliant Proto fic of long ago.


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